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The
story so far:

The
phone rings a couple of times more. This time Cyrus decides to
pick it up, assuming it could be some urgent call. He hits the
accept button but before he could even say “Hello”:

“Why
are you not picking my call?? It’s you who has done a
mistake. It’s you who has leaked the news about Jen and the
memory card and now you show me attitude and refuse to pick up my
calls! Tara. you are just impossible!!”

Beep..beep..beep…
the call gets cut. Cyrus stands there cogitating about what he has
just heard.

Agitated,
Shekhar decides to pick Roohi up from school.

_____________________________________________________________

Chapter 20

Back
home with Roohi, all his attention is on the clock, anticipating
Tara’s return. After many unsuccessful calls to Tara, he calls his
friend to cancel their meeting. He can’t leave Roohi alone at home.

Shekhar
is fed up of Tara’s annoying behaviour. Every time they quarrel,
she either rants, or sulks and ignores him. He has to apologise
though he may not be wrong. This time, he knows Tara has crossed the
line. If she expects him to back off, she is in for a surprise.
Shekhar starts up and shuts down his laptop four times before
abandoning it. He finds it hard to concentrate. After pacing up and
down the balcony for half an hour he eventually manages to settle
down a bit and get down to some writing.

“She
pushed the door open, and saw him glaring at her. She should have
been afraid but she had no idea what awaited her. She ignored him and
went inside. He followed her into the kitchen, the best place for
what he wanted to do. She faced him when she turned to take out the
rice container. He blocked her path, she must have sensed something
because she moved back a few steps. Without any warning, he gripped
her delicate neck with his hands and started squeezing it.”

Chapter- 4

Finishing before the deadline is an “Eureka” moment for a writer. Shekhar has already mailed his article yesterday evening, so he can concentrate on his second novel. His first novel is still on the shelf, but he hopes to see it soon in the bookstores. He is not going to allow a few rejection slips to shatter his dreams. He sits there staring at the screen, tapping his fingers on the wooden desk. He takes off his glasses and wipes them twice. The calm, cozy room fails to inspire him. There have been times when he hammered non-stop on the keyboard. Today, he hasn’t typed a single word, unless he counts the words which were erased by the click of the “delete” key. He isn’t devoid of ideas; the ideas fly around like bubbles which rupture as soon as he touches them.

His study is secluded just as he likes it. Tara is in her office and Roohi is never a disturbance. He has also closed the curtains to avoid distraction. His room seems like an isolated, dimly-lit cave, but that doesn’t prevent his mind from wandering. After that disturbing call, Jennifer hasn't called again. Shekhar's normally smiling face has started to show worry lines. Still staring at the screen, he imagines a world where he could write without worrying about finding publishers or readers, a content and less nagging Tara, a happy Roohi, and no friends in danger.

A harsh, ringing noise disrupts his reverie, he looks around for his mobile. Sifting frantically through the pile on his desk, he finds it and answers without bothering to check the number.

“Hello!” he screams into the cell phone. If the other person doesn’t like being screamed at, it isn’t his problem. He doesn’t like being disturbed either.

“Shekh, I’m scared...they are onto me.” He hears Jennifer’s voice along with her laboured, heavy breathing. The clamorous din in the background suggests she might have called from a market or perhaps, a station.

“Where are you? Have you reached Mumbai?” Shekhar fiddles with the bunch of keys on the desk. Though his voice is still high-pitched, it is mixed with concern. It has been two days since the previous call. Kochi isn’t that far from Mumbai.

“No, I-I couldn’t get away.”

“What do you mean ‘couldn’t get away’? Who are these people?” He grips the keys hard, his palm hurts as the edge digs into his palm. “Jen-”